


i didn't know what i had, now it's gone

by crimsonfamily



Series: professor layton prompt fics [5]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Cemetery, Drabble, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Other, all hallow's eve, des is gay and i WILL die on this hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonfamily/pseuds/crimsonfamily
Summary: desmond visits his family on all hallows' eve. set sometime after AZL, but before KMC in a time where i like to imagine desmond and hershel have reconnected hehewritten for the prompt "halloween" which i interpreted as all hallows' eve (basically less trick or treat, more visiting graves and such things).contains some spoilers for azran legacy + katrielle and the millionaires conspiracy
Relationships: Desmond Sycamore & Desmond Sycamore's Daughter, Desmond Sycamore/Desmond Sycamore's Husband, Hershel Layton & Desmond Sycamore
Series: professor layton prompt fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908664
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	i didn't know what i had, now it's gone

**Author's Note:**

> fic title is once again from a mika song! this time it's a line from dr. john

Desmond Sycamore was not usually a man who cried. 

Sure, he might tear up upon reading his favorite books (shut up, he knows it’s silly) or listening to a piece of music that resonates deeply within him; maybe as well upon hearing new stories of his brother’s adorable daughter, learning to walk, to talk, to read.  
Anyways, he did not cry that often, and especially not around others. Goodness, no! The only ones who had ever seen him cry was his parents and brother in his youth, and as an adult, Raymond. Well, possibly his brother as well. If he had noticed that breezy midsummer night a few months ago, though, he didn’t mention it.   
...ah, his husband as well. A couple of times, even. His beloved, handsome husband who had, along with Desmond, raised a wonderful daughter, until that fateful day when they were both taken away from him. How he missed them both, so dear to him still, ten years since their passing. 

The three candles weighed heavy in the worn black leather bag slung upon his shoulder as he walked on the pathway along tombstones in the dark, along the many flowers put down on the graves, and the candles softly lighting up the stones where they had been carefully placed by the families and friends of the departed. It hit him then, that every candle symbolized a dead person still being loved, being remembered, by the people who had lived around them. Gripping his bag tighter, he walked on until he got to the first stop of the evening. 

_ Rachel Bronev, 19XX – 19XX _

He slowly sunk down onto his knees in front of the tombstone, not caring if he dirtied the fabric of his trousers. Grabbing a matchstick from the matchbook he had placed in his bag, Desmond lit one of the candles as he sighed. He did not cry, because he really never knew his mother for more than the first 8 years of his life; and while he knew he loved her, it was so long ago and he’d really already grieved the loss of Rachel enough that her passing was just another step in him not meeting him again. He’d already come to terms with that possibility anyways, at the time he learned of her death. He sat by her grave for a while, looking at the flowers and half burnt candle already placed there, before placing his own memorial candle next to it.  _ So Hershel has been here already _ , he thought, somewhat thankful that his brother was not here to see him in such a sorry state; not over their mother’s grave, but what was to come next.   
He arose, brushing his knees off, even though he  _ knew _ it was futile, and with a last look at his mother’s grave, he began walking further into the cemetery.  _ How lucky _ , he thought bitterly,  _ that she is buried at the same site that they are _ .   
Soon, he would have to face them again. With every step closer, his shoulders shook more and more with the effort of keeping his tears at bay, until he was right in front of the large stone. He fell to his knees once again, ignited another matchstick with shaking hands and then lit the two final candles with it, and placed them in front of the tombstone. 

And finally, Desmond Sycamore wept.

_ Ambrose Sycamore, 19XX – 19XX _ _  
_ _ Electra Sycamore, 19XX – 19XX _

_ Eternally loved _

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for the Less Good™ parts. i wrote this in an hour and a half (although in 2 parts as i went out to play pokémon go in the middle of it. yes i still play, i adore this game) with no beta reader/editor/whatever it's called nowadays hahaaaaaaaa


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